


Reunion and Revolution

by thatgirlwhodraws



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (Against Werewolves and Witches), AU, Discrimination, M/M, Racism, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-28 19:41:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/678174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatgirlwhodraws/pseuds/thatgirlwhodraws
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world knows Werewolves and Witches exist -- but they're second-class citizens, living with incredible restrictions on their lives and very few rights.  </p><p>Stiles lives a relatively uncomplicated life -- or he did, until he meets Derek Hale, who drags him into a mess that will lead him to run from the government, and more often than not, for his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reunion and Revolution

**Author's Note:**

> Plenty of credit goes to my self-adopted brother Roy, who shoots ideas like this back and forth with me for shits and giggles on a daily basis.

Stiles has an abusive, one-sided relationship with his jeep. One sided in a way that meant Stiles was doing a whole lot of loving and crooning over his baby while she picked and chose which days she decided to behave for him.

Today was not one of those days.

His breaks gave out halfway to school and he'd nearly rear-ended a poor old woman driving in front of him. Instead, he'd swerved a little and driven in close to a panic for half a block before his car ran out of momentum, leaving him stranded and fighting off the crushing weight of a panic attack that was slowly closing in on him. Not his favorite way to start out a day.

A quick call to his dad had people out to help in time for him to get to class, courtesy of a squad car that only earned him a few strange looks on the way to class. The fact his dad was the sheriff helped a little.

"Dude, you're late." Scott hissed as he slid into his seat, pushing a latte into his hands despite his harsh tone. Ah, Scott. Always providing him with the necessary caffeine to make it through the day.

Even if it really didn't do much for his ADD.

"Baby had a little bit of a hiccup on the way. Had to get a ride from one of Dad's lackeys." They spoke quietly, Stiles half-heartedly jotting down what few notes Scott had taken already. Finnstock was starting to lose his hearing, which surprisingly meant he yelled a lot more than usual. Made it easy for Scott and Stiles to keep up basic conversation, though.

"I still think that jeep's a lost cause, dude." Scott looked him over, his brows knit in worry, ignoring the offended look Stiles gave him.

"Don't talk about my baby like that. I'm sure it's an easy fix." Stiles insisted, shaking his head. He glanced at his phone, texting his Dad to let him know he made it to class. He ignored Scott when he pointed out that the last few "quick fixes" had cost him three grand.

He spent most of the afternoon texting his dad on the status of his jeep, eventually prying out of him the location of the shop they'd towed his car to. While his ride to school had been awesome and a lot less stressful than sprinting his way a mile and a half to get to his class on time, he no longer had an obligation to get to his jeep in any sort of hurry. 

Unless he was willing to wait another five hours for his dad to clock out for the day, the bus was his only option. 

"Rude." Stiles muttered irritably at his phone, shoving it in his pocket and pulling out a few bills. He handed them to the driver as he stepped onto the massive machine, grasping one of the support bars instead of sitting down. The bus was pretty full, so he wasn't planning on asking anyone to stand up on his account.

Except… there were reasons Stiles didn't really like riding the bus.

"Hey," The bus-driver groused, twisting back over his shoulder and glaring at an older woman sitting near Stiles. "Stand up." He urged, his gaze on her steady until she slowly stood up, her eyes cast down as she shuffled further toward the back of the bus, beneath the giant sign that read in bold letters: " **Non-Human Seating** ". 

Wincing, Stiles reluctantly took her place and stared at his feet in shame for the rest of the ride. The humiliation burned him, though he was sure it was no more than how it burned the poor woman who'd had to stand for the rest of her ride.

The thing is...

Witches and Werewolves exist. Haha, very funny. But really. Ever since the whole witch-burning and wolf-hunting thing, and probably long before even that, humans oppressed non-humans. They did the slavery thing for a while, until witches got upgraded to second class-citizens, since they weren't 'animals' like wolves were. After a few too many wolf uprisings, wolves got freedom too. But anyone who wasn't human was still at the bottom of the food-chain. 

Stiles should be there at the bottom. But he's not. The romantic version his dad tells him is that he hooked up with a witch and she died, leaving him in his dad's custody, who was able to pass him off as human. Except when he turned four, he started setting things on fire and generally wreaking havoc in his dad's house -- and onto his expensive leather shoes.

His Dad only finds that story a little funny.

So living as a half-human (which is totally illegal, by the way, good goddess) is not the greatest thing ever. Because he gets this burning itch under his skin to reach out and embrace every other non-human he sees. Because he has nightmares about being caught. And he knows that that's their reality every day.

Instead, he gets up and he gets off the bus. He shuffles his way down the street and into the hole-in-the-wall place that reads 'Mechanic' out front. Pushing unpleasant thoughts from his mind, Stiles enters with an air of confidence he doesn't feel, and deflates slightly when there's no one to witness it, though the door into the back where they -- presumably -- keep the cars, and Stiles has no shame in letting himself in. 

He almost lights up when he sees his baby, shuffling over and staring down at the body under his jeep, examining it. Clearing his throat noisily, he waited, staring down at the pair of jeans barely poking out from one side of his jeep. Instead of resurfacing from what Stiles can only assume is the land of happy mechanics, the man just grunts and doesn't move, keeps tinkering with the car. Cocking his hip to one side, Stiles rested a hand on his hip, his toe tapping an impatient rhythm. A few minutes tick by (more like one) before Stiles huffs out an impatient breath.

"Excuse me, hello? Customer here? That's my baby you're working on." Stiles exclaimed in a short burst, rapping his knuckles lightly on the hood of the car. The man grunted again before rolling out from underneath the car, his eyes seeming to glow blue for a moment -- woah, definitely non-human-- as he scowled at him. Stiles' jaw went slack, because woah, this guy looked like he was hand-molded by the goddess. 

Stiles is in the middle of waxing poetic about the guy's abs, and the way they looked in that wife-beater in his head when the guy stood up and wiped his hands on a grummy rag.

"Your breaks are shot." The man grunted, giving Stiles the impression of a cave man. "I'm guessing you're a nervous driver, that you ride the breaks --" He fixed Stiles with a pointed look, continuing when it's clear Stiles will only feign innocence. "So you've worn out the parts and they're grinding on each other in a way they're not supposed to. I don't have the parts needed to replace what you broke right now, so you'll be out of a car for a few days."

Groaning, Stiles hung his head, rubbing his face. "A few days? How the hell am I supposed to get to school…" He grumbled, already pulling out his phone to text his dad when the mechanic awkwardly clears his throat, regaining Stiles' attention.

"There's a car out front you can use until it's fixed. Just don't dent it or anything." He tosses a set of keys at Stiles, which predictably hits him smack dab in the middle of his forehead before he catches them. Staring at the keys in hand, he looks back up at the guy.

"Dude, you're a life saver." Stiles exhaled sharply, studying the man's face and getting a strange look on his face, a sense of deja vu. This guy feels like the guy of his dreams -- literally. "You sure I don't have to uh -- sign paperwork, or something?"

The man gets a look on his face like he just ate a lemon, his whole face pinching inwards in a way that should really not be so attractive. Stiles blames the cheekbones. "No, just don't crash the car. You should really get home before dark." He grunted, turning back to the car. "It's the black one." 

Stiles stared at the man's back for a long time, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. "You should really wear and actual shirt, sour wolf." He breathed, heading towards the front again, ignoring the grunt the man lets out that Stiles chooses to interpret as annoyed.

"Derek." Stiles heard, just before he's out of ear-shot and out the door. 

"My name is Derek."


End file.
